


The Heat

by sapphirae_escapist



Category: Supernatural, The Heat (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternative Universe - FBI, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirae_escapist/pseuds/sapphirae_escapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"An uptight FBI Special Agent is paired with a foul-mouthed Sioux Falls cop to take down a ruthless drug lord."<br/>Note that despite the title this fic is NOT about A/B/O dynamics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heat

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multichapter crossover fanfic wherein I put the SPN characters into The Heat's universe. In order to do so I had to change many many things but I tried to stick to the characters' personalities and relationships so don't expect a word by word writeoff of The Heat.
> 
> Also this will eventually be destiel, even though I love The Heat and am absolutely in for the idea of having main characters without a romance, destiel is still destiel. 
> 
> All my thanks go out to my wonderful beta, szelene2, who helped unholing the plot and without whom I wouldn't even have started writing this. Still, we are not native English speakers so feel free to point out any mistakes (which are obviously all mine). :)

The white Sprinter moved swiftly and unobtrusively through New York City.

To be fair this wasn’t anything special, after all New York had more than eight million citizens, many of whom owned white Sprinters. And it’s not like the van had its sirens on. Or that it had sirens in the first place.

So when it finally rolled into a dusty old neighborhood not one soul noticed, or more likely, many souls did notice but pretended not to pay attention since that around here equaled years longer lifespans than that of those who liked to poke their noses into other people’s business.

The back doors of the Sprinter opened and six FBI agents in bulletproof vests and helmets and shields with .223 M-4s moved to the side of the house they were interested in.

Castiel Novak, wearing his usual outfit, a black suit with a blue tie and a trenchcoat, but this time topped with a bulletproof vest, followed. Subcompact Glock27 (4th generation, .40 caliber) clutched in his hands, he moved beside the first agent in the line aligning the southern wall of the raunchy house. Meanwhile more vans with more agents arrived, even a search dog too, he heard on his radio, so he signed to Agent Rachel to enter the house and cover him on the left.

‘What?’ the agent looked back at him.

Castiel changed to verbal communication.

‘Cover me and go left’ he whispered. ‘And read the manual.’

This, however, still bothered him less than the fact that none of his agents waited for his count to three and moved on, forcing him to catch up with them inside.

 When the FBI enters a house they are not invited in they usually use more agents than strictly needed just to be sure. If there is no resistance, there still is a lot of shouting (seriously, those helmets are not only bulletproof but at least partially soundproof too) and ‘Hands on your head!’-s and ‘To the ground!’-s, so by the time Castiel walked in the two suspects’ (a white and a black men, both slightly overweight and both covered in -presumably- prison tattoos) hands were cuffed behind their backs and they were sitting -probably very uncomfortably- on the otherwise comfy looking sofa.

‘We’ve checked everywhere but there’s nothing,’ Ion, a long haired agent with a two days old stubble told Hester, a blonde in a grey pantsuit, who grimaced.

‘The place is clean. Your theory has a few holes in it anyway, Novak. Let’s roll, guys.’

‘Let us wait a little longer’ Castiel turned after her as she was about to leave.

‘What?’ Hester halted to a stop.

‘I don’t believe this place is clean.’ Castiel took his time to observe the room. Spacy, wooden furniture, previous century touch. Nothing out of the ordinary. The two suspects had been just about to start their dinner watching TV, judging by the plates on the table. 

Hester roller her eyes.

‘Don’t start again, Novak.’

‘Barbecued spare ribs’ Castiel held eye contact with Hester.

‘What.’

‘Barbecued spare ribs’ he pointed to one of the plates. Then he spared a good long glance at the loudest breather in the world, a German shepherd search dog, crouched down, and pulled a transparent bag out from under the table, where it had been gaffer taped. Even if the bag had not been transparent it would have been obvious what was in it. ‘Cocaine. Airtight bag dipped in wax. I respect the effort, although it was in vain, but it was enough to fool the dog’ he explained, even though by that time Hester figured that much out herself. On the other hand she still looked considerably shocked, which, Castiel decided, was already worth coming here. ‘But unfortunately it’s not what I’m looking for. Are there guns in this house?’ He crossed his arms and turned to the suspects.

The white man sitting on the right side of the couch looked back at him nonchalantly as he replied.

‘I don’t know anything about any guns.’

Castiel turned his head to the left, as if he could gather more visual information from that angle.

‘This house… this is prohibition era, isn’t it?’

‘What?’ this time, it was the other one who asked.

‘It is. I’ve read about these. Interesting.’

‘And what, Novak, is so interesting that you are wasting the FBI’s time for it?’ Hester shifted weight but looked still too stiff.

‘Do you know what the prohibition was?’ He asked back, to the room in general, and walked around the room seemingly random only to stop at the mantelpiece.

It was as nice, hard wooden mantelpiece with pictures of the Holy Family and little statues of baby Jesus. Castiel allowed himself a frown when his back was turned to the rest.

‘No. Is that a crime too?’ the black man replied.

‘It was the time when alcohol was banned. But people still drank, even though they weren’t supposed to. And these houses’ he gestured around with one hand while the other systematically ran through every inch of the mantelpiece,’ had all this little nooks and crannies where they could hide it. Like this one.’

He pushed one decorative wooden brick underneath a shelf, and the boards above it parted, revealing a rather fancy collection of obviously illegal pistols and shotguns.

The expression on Rachel’s face mirrored the black guy’s as he said ‘Fuck’ out loud.

‘Now you can roll’ Castiel told her, and after leaving the room heard her scold the dog for being a dick. He felt the FBI agents’ looks on his back as he made his way to the car- he wouldn’t wait for the Sprinter and the whole team again, thank you very much. He didn’t even try going for the shotgun and waiting for someone to drive him to the HQ. Most of his colleagues wouldn’t even get into the same car with him if they weren’t ordered; hell, most of his colleagues didn’t even talk to him. On other times he didn’t care, he preferred to do his job alone anyway, but on occasions like this, solving something right after Hester and Ion were unable to, it would have been really nice just to tell the driver to go and do so. Sometimes, when Alfie or Inias were on a case with him they would drive, but Alfie had got transferred six month earlier and Inias nursed a broken arm, so Castiel got to the driver’s seat and disregarded the spiting looks as he drove away.

 

Later that night, after reporting to his boss, having takeaway lunch at a fast food restaurant and changing to his pajamas he decided to watch some TV with Riot. He surfed mindlessly, not caring about _Foul Play_ or _The Matrix_ , the cat purring in his lap as he decided to stick with _The Road Runner Show_.

‘Do you see that?’ he murmured, but Riot was uninterested in the cartoon, especially as long as Castiel kept petting him. ‘The bird represents God, and the coyote is man, endlessly chasing the divine yet never able to catch him. It’s… hilarious.’

Riot perked up, hearing his name, but he remained in Castiel’s lap.

‘Riot! Here, kitty, kitty!’

Castiel sighed. The clapping noises and the calling came from his neighbors, with whom he’d shared a common balcony on the 7th floor of the apartment.

‘Are you at the neighbor’s again? Riot! Come, kitty, kitty!’

Castiel stood up and muttered an ‘okay, coming’ under his breath before he put the cat out.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Go on home’ he whispered, and the cat disappeared after a parting _meow_.

‘Riot, I told you to stay away from that weird man’ he heard, clear as bell, even after he closed the balcony door. Before he had too much time to think about that, though, a quiet yet distinctive alarm sound signed that he had a new email, and after reading it he really did not care about what his neighbor was thinking about him.

His boss, Naomi, was promoted to D.C. office. Which meant that her replacement would be determined soon. Which, Castiel was ninety nine percent certain, meant that he was to be the new Head of Department very, very soon.

 

The next day Castiel was even more confident than he had ever been when he walked into the FBI HQ. He even used his badge the right side up when he showed it at the entrance – those times when he messed up were the ones he was most keen about forgetting.

Naomi was on the phone when he arrived to her office so he had to wait which allowed him time to marvel how eerily sterile everything was; the white couches, the grey metal walls with white windows, the glass table behind which Naomi sat in her usual grey suit.

Castiel had recognized before that most of his fellow agents preferred a grey suit. He didn’t understand why; he himself liked black better.

Naomi finally finished with the phoning and turned her attention towards Castiel.

‘What do you want.’

Usually, Naomi made questions sound like statements. This was no different.

‘I am letting you know that I have been observing the other agents, overseeing what they were doing, monitoring the events.’

‘Supervising’ Naomi did not sound pleased.

‘Yes. Supervising.’

Naomi sighed deep, collected her folders under her arm then walked out from behind her table.

‘Look, Novak, I understand where this is coming from but I haven’t made any decisions yet.’

‘I understand that, it would be too soon after your proposition…’

She shocked her head and gestured for him to follow as she made her way to the corridor.

‘No, it’s not just that. Novak… Castiel’ he nearly jumped, hearing his first name from her, ‘I don’t know if you are the right person for this position.’

‘I don’t understand. I have closed more cases than any agents here’ he had to lower his voice as they maneuvered through corridors, avoiding moving colleagues and unmoving furniture.

‘You are a good agent, but there are other good agents here.’

‘But I closed the Michael Falls case.’

This was his big joker card. Although Castiel never played poker, he was certain this would win the argument for him. No one could doubt that the Michael Falls case had been the biggest spectacle of the decade: the media’s favorite millionaire, Michael Falls found dead in his apartment, doors locked from the inside, yet hard evidence showing it was murder. Castiel had been the one to figure out that Falls’ had had a secret lover, a young boy, Adam Milligan, and the investigation eventually lead to his arrest.

‘True, but Castiel – it’s not a secret that none of the other agents like you.’

‘But-’

‘I’ve got countless of complaints against you. You scold others for disregarding rules-’

‘But this is the FBI– if we don’t follow rules then how can we expect civil citizens to do so?’

‘Castiel, I would agree, but you have no sense of humor and you are unable to make conversations that are unrelated to a case. If you were to be in a leading position you need to be able to communicate well with the others. You need to earn their sympathy and trust for them to listen to you, which will not work if you chide them for having a too long coffee break– while at the same time _you_ don’t follow _my_ orders if you morally disagree with them!’ Naomi had to raise her voice at the end because Castiel -unsuccessfully- tried to cut in at least three times.

‘That was once and my reasons-‘

‘That was way more than once. I _reported_ only one time, because I consider you a great agent. But you can’t communicate with the other agents which is crucial in this line of work, so I’m afraid you are not ready for the position.’

Naomi turned and led him to a conference room. A click on the remote control had the shutters down and soon Castiel was facing a bunch of pictures that had previously been inside one of Naomi’s manila folders.

‘Now… we’ve got a situation in Sioux Falls. The feds picked up some talk about a guy moving in.’

They took seats, facing each other, and Castiel dived to the pictures while listening to his boss.

‘Lucifer Dewar.’

Castiel looked up. Naomi shrugged.

‘Obviously a stage-name, if you can call what he does a performance.’

‘Dewar is old English for the Devil. And Lucifer…’

If Naomi was surprised about his knowledge of old English she didn’t show.

‘Yes. Well. As I said, performance. But we don’t know what he looks like, where he comes from, nothing. We believe this man’ Naomi pointed at the photo next to Castiel’s right elbow, ‘is doing the legwork for him. Azazel McNair. He has rather a… nasty style.’

Castiel squinted at the picture of a white man in his fifties, deep wrinkles on his face and teeth in a scarily sharp order.

‘Murder,’ Naomi started citing and she didn’t even need to look at a list, ‘extortion, torture. This is his M.O.’

She didn’t have to point to the pictures in question, Castiel guessed by himself.

Many corpses in different places and positions, all dried in blood, and various parts missing: legs, guts, eyes. By the amount of blood shown they were removed while the victims were still alive.

‘You know that the problem with man like that is that everyone’s too scared to talk.’

Castiel nodded then looked up and held Naomi’s eyes.

‘If we want to find Lucifer Dewar, we need to find this Azazel McNair first. Pack your bags, I’m sending you to Sioux Falls. You know how to get inside people’s heads- do well on this, and we’ll get back to the job.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, in the next chapter we'll meet Dean too :)
> 
> Also no one will convince me that the names I chose aren't funny.


End file.
